his skilful and anxious physician Munter, who when he left him had tears in his eyes; but over Henrik's countenance, on the contrary, when he returned to his family, although he was paler than usual, was a peculiarly mild and solemn repose, which seemed to diffuse itself through his whole being. From this moment his temper of mind was changed; he was now mild and calm, yet at the same time more joyous and amiable than ever. His eyes had an indescribable clearness and beauty; the shadow had passed away from his soul altogether. But deeper and deeper lay the shadow over one person, who from the beginning of Henrik's illness was no longer like herself-and that was Henrik's mother. It is true that she worked and spoke as formerly, but a knawing anguish lived in her; she appeared absent from the passing business of life; and every occupation which had not reference, in some way or other, to her son, was indifferent or painful to her. The daughters kept carefully trom her any thing which might be disturbing to her mind. She devoted herself almost exclusively to her son; and many hours full of rich enjoyment were spent by these two, who soon, perhaps must separate for so long! Every strong mental excitement was interdicted to Henrik; his very illness would not admit of it. He must renounce his beloved studies: but his living spirit, which could not sleep, refreshed itself at the youthful fountains of art. He occupied himself much with the works of a poet who, during his short life, had suffered much and sung much also, and from amid whose crown of thorns the loveliest "Lilies of Sharon" had blossomed. The works of Stagnelius* were his favourite reading. He himself composed many songs, and his mother sang them to him during the long winter evenings. According to his opinion, his mother sang better than his sisters; and he rejoiced himself in the pure strength which triumphantly exalted him in this poet above the anguish and fever of life. It was observed that about this time he often turned the conversation, in the presence of his mother, to the brighter side of death. It seemed as if he wished to prepare her gradually for the possibly near separation, and to deprive it beforehand of its bitterness. Elise had formerly loved conversations of this kind; had loved whatever tended to diffuse light over the darker scenes of life but now she always grew paler when the subject was introduced; uneasiness expressed itself in her eyes, and she endeavoured, with a kind of terror, to put an end to it. One evening as the family, together with Mr. Munter, were assembled in the confidential hour of twilight, they began to speak about dreams, and then about death. Henrik mentioned the ancient comparison of sleep and death, which he said he considered less striking as regarded its unconsciousness than its resemblance in the awaking. "And in what do you especially consider this resemblance to consist ?" asked Leonore. "In the perfect retention and re-animation of consciousness, of memory, of the whole condition of the soul," replied he, "which is experienced in the morning after the dark night." * Eric Stagnelius, who was born in 1793, and died in 1823, would have been, it is probable, had a longer life been granted to him, one of the most distinguished poets of the age. His poems, epic, dramatic, and lyric, fill three vol"Liljor i Saron"-Lilies of Sharon, is the general title of his lyrics. umes. Good," said the Assessor, "and possible; out what can we know about it?" "All that revelation has made known to us," replied Henrik with an animated look: “do we really need any stronger light on this subject than that afforded us by one of our own race, who was dead and yet rose again from the grave, and who exhibited himself after his sleep in the dark dwelling with precisely the same dispositions, the same friendships, and with the most perfect remembrance of the least as well as the greatest events of his earthly existence? What a clear, what a friendly light has not this circumstance diffused around the dark gates of the tomb! It has united the two worlds! it has thrown a bridge over the gloomy deep; it enables the drooping wanderer to approach it without horror; it enables him to say to his friends on the evening of life, Good night!' with the same calmness with which he can speak those words to them on the evening of the day." An arm was thrown convulsively round Henrik, and the voice of his mother whispered, in a tone of despair, to him, "You must not leave us, Henrik! you must not!" and with these words she sunk unconscious on his breast. From this evening Henrik never again introduced in the presence of his mother a subject which was so painful to her. He sought to calm and cheer her, and his sisters helped him truly in the same work. They now had less desire than ever to leave home and to mingle in society generally; yet notwithstanding they did so occasionally, because their brother wished it, and it enabled them to have something to tell at home, which could entertain and enliven both him and his mother. These reports were generally made in Henrik's room, and how heartily did they not laugh there! Ah! in a cordially united family, care may take firm footing for one moment and in the very next be chased away! Eva appeared, during this time to forget her own trouble, that she also might be a flower in the garland of comfort and tenderness which was bound around the favourite of the family; the Judge too, tore himself more frequently than hitherto from his occupations, and united himself to the family circle. A more attractive sick chamber than Henrik's can hardly be imagined, and that he himself felt. Enfeebled by the influence of disease, his beautiful eyes often became filled with tears from slight causes, and he would exclaim "I am happytoo happy! What a blessedness to be able to live! That is happiness! that is the summer of the soul! Even now, amid my sufferings, I feel myself made through you so rich, so happy!" and then he would stretch forth his hands to those of his mother or his sisters, and press them to his lips or to his bosom. The In a while, an interval of amendment occurred, and he suffered much less; a sentiment of joy diffused itself through the house, and Henrik himself appeared at times to entertain hopes of life. He could now go out again and inhale the fresh winter air-his favourite air. Judge often accompanied him, and it was beautiful to see the powerful, vigorous father supporting with his arm the pale but handsome son, whenever his steps became weary; to see him curbing his own peculiarly hasty movements, and conducting him slowly homewards-it was beautiful to see the expression in the countenance of each. People talk a great deal about the beauty of maternal love-paternal love has perhaps something yet more beautiful and affecting in it; and it is my opinion that he who has had the happiness of experiencing the careful culture of a loving, yet at the same time upright father, can, with fuller feeling and with more inward understanding than any other, lift his heart to heaven in that universal prayer of the human race, "Our Father which art in heaven!" Several weeks passed on, and a lady who was an intimate friend of the family was about to undertake a journey with her daughter to the city where Petrea was visiting, and desired greatly to take Gabriele with her, who was the dearest friend of the young Amalie. Gabriele would very gladly have embraced the opportunity of visiting her beloved sister, and of seeing at the same time something of the world, but now when Henrik was ill, she could not think about it; she was quite resolved not to separate herself from him. He, on the contrary, was zealously bent upon it, and wished greatly that she should make this journey, which would be so extremely agreeable to her. "On that account am I called Victor, my angel," said he; "heaven itself has sanctioned my power-and your Victor am I also, my sweet Eva; is it not so ?" "Ah! only too much so," sighed Eva. "But now, Victor, spare my weakness; do not desire to see me again till I go in spring in a month's time to M- -s. Do not desire "Demand no such promises from Victor, Eva," said he; "he will not bind himself so! but you-you must do what your Victor wills, else he cannot believe that you love him. What you will refuse to take a few steps only in order to gladden your eyes and your heart-in order to see and to hear him; in truth you do not love him!" "Ah, I love you, I adore you," returned Eva; "I could endure anything on your account-even the pangs of my own conscience; but my parents, my brother and sisters! they are so good, so excellent-Ah I! Yet sometimes the love which I have for them contends with the love which I have for you. Do not string the bow too tightly, Victor! And now, farewell, beloved! In a month's time you will see me, your Eva, again in M- -s." "Don't you see," said he, "that Gabriele sits here and makes herself pale with looking at me, and that is so utterly unnecessary, especially "Stop!" said he, "do you think you are to now I am so much better, and when I certainly leave me in that way! Where is my ring?" in a little time shall be quite well again. Jour- "On my heart," returned she, "day and night ney, journey away, dear Gabriel, I beseech you! it rests there-farewell, let me go!" You shall cheer us in the mean time with your "Say once more that you love me above every letters, and when at Easter you return with Pe-thing in this world!" said he, "that you belong trea you will no longer have an ailing suffering brother, for I will manage it so that I will be quite well by that time!" She was talked to also on other sides, especially by the young, lively Amalie, and at length she was over persuaded; was made to believe, that for the present all danger for her brother was passed, and she commenced the journey with a merry jest on her lips, but with tears in her eyes. This was the first flight of "our little lady" from home. Not a word was heard from Major R.; and although Eva continued reserved towards her own family, she appeared to be so much calmer than formerly that they all began to be quite easy on her account. The Judge, who in consequence of her behaviour evinced towards her a grateful tenderness, and endeavoured to gratify her slightest wishes, gave his consent that in the early commencement of spring she should go to MHe hoped that by that time the Major would be far removed from the country; but it was not long before a painful discovery was made. -S. On a dark evening at the beginning of March, two persons stood in deep but low discourse under a tree in St. Mary's churchyard. "How childish you are Eva!" said the one, "with your fears and your doubts! and how pusillanious in your love. If you would learn, vely angel! how true love speaks, listen to me, "Pourquoi fit on l'amour, si son pouvoir n'affronte, only to me!" "Only to you! farewell!" and with these words Eva tore herself away from him, and hastened with flying feet, like one terrified, across the churchyard, and the Major followed her slowly. A dark form stepped at that moment hastily forward, as if it had arisen from one of the graves, and met the Major face to face. It seemed to him as if a cold wind passed through his heart, for the form, tall and silent, and at that dark hour, and in the churchyard, had something in it ominous and spectre-like, and as it had evidently advanced to him with design, he paused suddenly, and asked sharply, "Who are you?" "Eva's father!" replied a suppressed but powerful voice, and by the up-flaring light of a lamp which the wind drove towards them, the Major saw the eyes of the Judge riveted upon him with a wrathful and threatening expression. His heart sank for a moment, but in the next, he spoke with all his accustomed haughty levity. "Now there is no necessity for me," said he, "to watch longer after her;" and so saying he turned hastily aside, and vanished in the dark ness. The Judge followed his daughter without nearing her. When he came home, such a deep and painful grief lay on his brow as had never been observed there before. For the first time in his life the powerful head of the Judge seemed actually bowed. At this time Sternhok came to the city quite unexpectedly. He had heard of the misfortune Je t'aime tu le sais! Que l'mporte tout le reste ?" which had befallen the Franks, as well as the "O Victor," answered the trembling voice of part which Henrik acted on this occasion, and of Eva, "my fault is not the having too little love the illness which was the consequence of it, and for you. Ah, I feel indeed, and I evince it in he came now in order to see him before he travmy conduct, that my love to you is greater than elled abroad. This visit, which had occasioned my love for father, mother, sisters, or all the Sternhok to diverge as much as sixty English world! And yet I know that it is wrong; my miles out of his way, surprised and deeply afheart raises itself against me-but I cannot re-fected Henrik, who, as he entered the room, met sist your power." with the most candid expression of cordial devotion. Sternhok seized his outstretched hand, and a suaden paleness overspread his manly countenance as he remarked the change a few weeks' illness had made in Henrik's appearance. "It is beautiful of you to come to me-my thanks for it, Sterohok!" said Henrik from his heart, "otherwise," continued he, "you would probably have seen me no more in this world; and I have wished so much to say one word to you before we separated thus." Both were silent for some minutes. "What would you say to me, Henrik ?" at length asked Sternhok, while an extraordinary emotion was depicted in his countenance. "I would thank you," returned Henrik cordially, "thank you for your severity towards me, and tell you how sincerely I now acknowledge it to have been just, and wholesome for me also. I would thank you, because by that means you have been a more real friend, and I am now perfectly convinced how honestly and well you have acted towards me. This impression, this remembrance of our acquaintance, is the only one which I will take away with me when I leave this world. You have not been able to love me, but that was my own fault. I have sorrowed over the knowledge of that, but now I have submitted to it. In the mean time it would be very pleasant to me to know that my faults-that my late behaviour towards you, had not left behind it too repulsive an impression-it would be very pleasant for me to believe that you were able to think kindly of me when I am no more!" A deep crimson flamed on Sternhok's countenance, and his eyes glistened as he replied, "Henrik, I feel more than ever in this moment that I have not shown justice towards you. Several later circumstances have opened my eyes, and now-Henrik, can you give me your friendship! mine you have for ever!" "O this is a happy moment!" said Henrik, with increasing emotion, "through my whole life I have longed for it, and now for the first time it is given me-now when—” Sternhok answered not a word; large tears rolled down his cheeks, and he pressed Henrik warmly to his breast. On Henrik's account he endeavoured to give the conversation a calmer turn, but the heart of his poor friend swelled high, and it was now too full of life and feeling to find rest in anything but the communication of these. The connexion between the two young men seemed now different to what it had ever been before. It was Henrik who now led the conversation, and Sternhok who followed him, and listened to him with attention and the most unequivocal sympathy, whilst the young man gave such free scope to his thoughts and presentiments as he had never ventured to do before in the presence of the severe critic. But the truth is, there belongs to a dweller on the borders of the kingdom of death a peculiar rank, a peculiar worth, and man believes that the whispering of spirits from the mysterious land reaches the ear which bows itself to them-on this account the wise and the strong of earth listen silently like disciples, and piously like little children, to the precepts which are breathed forth from dying lips. The entrance of the Judge gave another turn to the conversation, which Sternhok soon led to Henrik's last works. He directed his discourse principally to the Judge, and spoke of them with all the ability of a real connoisseur, and with such entire and cordial praise as surprised Henrik as much as it cheered him. It is a very great pleasure to hear oneself praised, and well praised too, by a person whom one highly esteems, and particularly when, at the same time, the person is commonly niggardly of his praise. Henrik experienced at that moment this feeling in its highest degree; and this pleasure was accompanied by the yet greater pleasure of seeing himself understood, and in such a manner by Sternhok as made himself more clear to himself. In this moment he seemed, now for the first time, to comprehend in a perfectly intelligible manner his own talents, and what he wished to do, and what he was able to do. The fountain of life swelled forth strongly in his breast. "You make me well again, Nils Gabriel!" exclaimed he; "you give me new life. I will recover; recover in order again to live, in order to work better and more confidently than I have hitherto done. As yet I have done nothing; but now, now I could-I feel new life in me--I have never yet felt myself so well as now! Certainly I shall now recover, or indeed-is the best wine reserved for me till the last ?" "But why," said Sternhok warmly, "why speak so positively about your death? I will hope and believe that your condition is not so dangerous. Let me consult a celebrated foreign physician on your case-or better still, make the journey with me, and put yourself under the care of Dr. K- He is celebrated for his treatment of diseases of the heart; let me conduct you to him; certainly you can and will recover!" Henrik shook his head mournfully: "There lies his work," said he, pointing to an open book, "and from it I know all concerning my own con- The evening sped on agreeably, and with andition. Do you see, Nils Gabriel," continued imation in the family circle. The blessed anhe, with a beautiful smile, as he placed his arm gels of heaven were not more beautiful or more on the shoulder of his friend and pointed with joyous than Henrik. He joked with his mother his other towards heaven, gazing on him the and sisters, nay, even with Sternhok, in the gaywhile with eyes that seemed larger than ever est manner, and was one of the liveliest who par- for towards death the eyes increase in size and took of the citron-soufflé which Louise served brilliancy-"do you see," said he, "there wan-up for supper, and which she herself had helped ders your star. It ascends! for certain a bright to prepare, and of which she was not a little path lies before; but when it beams upon your proud. Yes, indeed, she was almost ready to berenown it will look down upon my grave! Ilieve that it was this which had given new life to have no doubt whatever on this point. Some Henrik, and the power of which she considered time ago this thought was bitter to me; it is so to be wonderfully operative. But ah!now no more! When the knowledge depresses me that I have accomplished so very little on earth, I will endeavour to console myself with the conviction that you will be able to do so much This suffering continued uninterruptedly for more, and that either in this world or the next I three days, and deprived the sick young man of shall rejoice over your usefulness and your hap-consciousness; whilst it seemed to be leading piness!" At the very moment when Henrik jested with Louise on this very subject, he was seized by the most violent suffering. him quickly to that bound which mercy has set to human sufferings. On the second day after this paroxysm Henrik was seized with desire for change of resting-place, which may be commonly regarded as the sign that the soul is preparing for its great change of abode. The Judge himself bore his son in his arms from room to room, and from bed to bed. No sleep visited the eyes of his family during these terrible days; whilst his mother, with eyes tearless and full of anguish riveted upon her son, followed him from room to room, and from bed to bed; now hanging over his pillow, now seated at the foot of his bed, and smiling tenderly upon him when he appeared to know her, and articulating his name in a low and almost inaudible voice. At this moment Henrik opened his eyes and fixed them calmly and full of expression on his mother. "Thank God!" said he, "I feel no more pain." "Thanks and praise be given to God, my child!" said she. Mother and son looked on each other with deep and cheerful love! they understood each other perfectly. "When I am no more," said he, with a faint and broken voice, "then-tell it to Gabriele prudently; she has such tender feelings-and she is not strong. Do not tell it to her on a day-when it is cold and dull-but-on a day-when the sun shines warm-when all things look bright and kindly—then, then tell her that I am gone first to greet her-and tell her from me-that it is not difficult to die !-that there is a sun on the other side-" He ceased, but with a loving smile on his lips, and his eyes closed their lids as from very weariness. On the evening of the third day the poor youth regained his consciousness. He recognised his family again, and spoke kindly to them. He saw that they were pale and weary, and besought them incessantly to go to rest. The Assessor, who was present, united earnestly in this request, and assured them that, according to all appearances, Henrik would now enjoy an easy sleep, and that he himself would watch by him through the night. The father and daughters re-knock, I come!"" tired to rest; but when they endeavoured to persuade the mother, she only waved with her hand, whilst a mournful smile seemed to say, "it is of no use whatever to talk to me about it.' "I may remain with you, Henrik?" said she, beseechingly. He smiled, took her hand, and laid it on his breast; and in the same moment closing his eyes, a calm refreshing sleep stole over him. The Assessor sate silently beside them, and observed them both: it was not long, however, before he was obliged to leave them, being summoned suddenly to some one who was dangerously ill. He left them with the promise to return in the course of the night. Munter was called in the city the night-physician, because there was no one like him who appeared earnestly willing to give his help by night as by day. The mother breathed deeply when she saw herself alone with her son. She folded her hands, and raised her eyes to heaven with an expression which through the whole of the foregoing days had been foreign to them. It was no longer restless, almost murmuring anxiety; it was a mournful, yet at the same time, deep, perfect, nay, almost loving resignation. bent over her son, and spoke in a low voice out of the depths of her affectionate heart. She "Go, my sweet boy, go! I will no longer hold thee back, since it is painful to thee! May the deliverer come! Thy mother will no longer contend with him to retain thee! May he come and make an end of thy sufferings! I-will then be satisfied! Go, then, my first-born, my summerchild; and if there may never more come a summer to the heart of thy mother-still go! that thou mayst have rest! Did I make thy cradle sweet, my child! so would I not embitter by my lamentations thy death-bed! Blessed be thou! Blessed be He also who gave thee to me, and who now takes thee from me to a better home! Some time, my son, I shall come to thee; go thou beforeland, my child! Thou art weary; so weary! Thy last wandering was heavy to thee; now thou wilt rest. Come thou good deliverer, come thou beloved death, and give rest to his heart; but easily, easily. Let him not suffer more-let him not endure more. Never did he give care to his parents-" Presently afterward he spoke again, but in a very low voice. "Sing me something, mother," said he, "I shall then sleep more calmly, 'They These words were the beginning of a song which Henrik had himself written, and set to music some time before, during a night of suffering. The genius of poetry seemed to have deserted him during the latter part of his illness; this was painful to him, but his mind remained the same, and the spirit of poetry lived still in the hymn which his mother now, at his request, sang in a trembling voice: They knock! I come! yet ere on the way Oh thanks for life, and thanks too for death, But the loveliest of all to do thy will- Farewell, lovely earth, on whose bosom I lay; "It is burning!" repeated Henrik in a voice of suffering, "It is terrible! Mother! mother " said he, looking at her with a restless glar ce. "Your mother is here!" said she, ending over him. ly. his "Ah! then all is right!" said he again, calmSing, my mother," added he, again closing eyes, "I am weary.” She sang, We part! but in parting our steps we bend Alone towards that glorious morrow, Where friend no more shall part from friend, Where none knoweth heartache or rrow! Farewell all is dark to my failing ght, Your loved forms from my faint gaze rending, 'Tis dark, but oh far beyond the night I see light o'er the darkness ascending! "Oh! if you only knew how serene it is! is divine!" said the dying one, as he stretched forth his arms, and then dropped them again. A change passed over the countenance of the young man; "death had touched his heart gently, 490164 and its pulsations ceased. At the same moment a wonderful inspiration animated the mother; her eyes beamed brightly, and never before had her voice so beautiful, so clear a tone as while she sang, Thou callest O Father! with glad accord Now the pang is past! now be hold I the Lord- Judge Frank was awoke out of his uneasy sleep by the song, whose tone seemed to have a something supernatural in it. A few moments passed before he could convince himself that the voice which he heard was really that of his wife. He hastened with indescribable anxiety to the sick room; Elise yet sung the last verse as he entered, and, casting his eyes on her countenance, he exclaimed, "My God!" and clasped his hands together. The song ceased: a dreadful consciousness thrust itself like a sword through the heart of the mother. She saw before her the corpse of her son, and with a faint cry of horror she sank, as if lifeless, upon the bed of death. CRAPTER VIII. ELISE TO CECILIA. sufferings had reconciled me to his death; they abated as death approached, and he besought of me, as he had often done in the years of his childhood, to sing him to sleep. I sang-I was was able to sing. He received pleasure from the song and strength also, and with a heavenly smile, while heavenly pictures seemed to float before his eyes, he said, 'Ah, it is divine!' and I sang better and ever clearer. I saw his eyes change themselves, his breath became suspended, and I knew that then was the moment of separation between soul and body-between me and him! but I did not then feel it, and I sang on. It seemed to me as if the song sustained the spirit and raised it to heaven. In that moment I was happy; for even I, as well as he, was exalted above every earthly pain. "The exclamation of my name awoke me from my blessed dream, and I saw the dead body of my son-after this I saw nothing more. "There was a long, deep stupor, from which when I recovered I felt a heart beating against my temples. I raised my eyes and saw my husband; my head was resting on his breast, and with the tenderest words he was calling me back to life; my daughters stood around me weeping, and kissing my hands and my clothes; I also wept, and then I felt better; it was then morning, and the dawn came into my chamber. I threw my arms round my husband's neck, ane said, 'Ernst, love me! I will endeavour-' "I could say no more, but he understood me, thanked me warmly, and pressed me close to his bosom. "I did endeavour to be calm, and with God's help I succeeded. For several hours of the day I lay still on my bed, while Eva, whose voice is remarkably sweet, read aloud to me. I got up for tea, and endeavoured to be as usual; my husband and my daughters supported me, and all was peace and love. "But when the day was ended, and Ernst and I were alone in our chamber, a fear of the night, of bed, and a sleepless pillow, seized hold of me; I therefore seated myself on the sofa, and prayed Ernst to read to me, for I longed for the consolations of the Gospel. He seated himself by me and read; but the words, although spoken by his manly, firm voice, passed at this time impressionless over my inward sense. I understood nothing, and all within me was dark and vacant. All at once, some one knocked softly at the door, and Ernst, not a little astonished, said, 'Come in;' the door was opened, and Eva entered. She was very pale, and appeared excited, but yet, at the same time, firm and determined. She approached us softly, and, sinking down on her knees between us, took our hands between hers. I would have raised her, but Ernst held me back, and said, mildly but gravely, 'Let her alone!' Two months later. "WHEN I last wrote to you, my Cecilia, it was winter. Winter, severe and icy, had also gathered itself about my heart-my life's joy was wrapped in his winding-sheet, and it seemed to me as if no more spring could bloom, no more life could exist; and that I should never again have the heart to write a cheerful or hopeful word. And now-now it is spring! The lark sings again the ascension-song of the earth; the May-sun diffuses his warming beam through my chamber, and the grass becomes already green upon the grave of my first-born, my favourite! And I-O Lord! thou who smitest, thou also healest, and I will praise thee! for every affliction which thou sendest becomest good if it be only received with patience. And if thou concealest thyself for a season, thou revealest thyself yet soon again, kinder and more glorious than before! For a little while and we see thee not, and again for a little while and we see thee, and our hearts rejoice and drink strength and enjoyment out of the cup which thou, Almighty One, hast filled. Yes, everything in life becomes good, if that life be only spent in God! "But in those dark winter hours it was often gloomy and tumultuous within me. Ah, Cecilia, I was not willing that he should die! He was my only son, my first-born child. I suffered most at his birth; I sang most beside his cradle; my heart leaped up first and highest with "My father, my mother!' said Eva, with hummaternal joy at his childish play. He was my bling voice, I have given you uneasiness-parsummer-child, born in the midsummer of na- don me! I have grieved you-I will not do it ture and of my life, and my strength, and, then, again. Ah! I will not now lay a stone on your he was so f of life, so beautiful, so good! burden. See, how disobedient I have been-this No, I was not willing that he should have ring, and these letters, I have received against died; and as the time drew nearer and nearer, your will and against my promises, from Major and I saw that it must be-then it was dark in R. I will now send them back. See here! read me. But the last night-Oh, it was a most what I have written to him; our acquaintance wonderful night! then it was quite otherwise. is for ever broken! Pardon me, that I have Do you know, Cecilia, that I sung gayly, tri- chosen these hours to busy you with my affairs, umphantly, by the deathbed of my first-born! but I feared my own weakness when the force of Now I cannot comprehend it. But this night-this hour shall have passed. Oh, my parents! I he had the foregoing day suffered much, and his feel, I know that he is not worthy to be your |